


A Bargain, A Ticking Clock And A Love Story

by raeYhem



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A lot happens in this one, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, BAMF Allura (Voltron), Complicated Plot, Complicated Relationships, Demon Deals, Drinking, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Human!Lotor, Immortality, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, No Lesbians Die, No Lotors were hurt in the making of this fic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Pirates, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Some characters die tho because time, Suicide Attempt, Survivor Guilt, Tea, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, We don't dwell long on that tho, im trying, in a way well its not really a demon but oh well, is anyone even in this fandom anymore, like big plot, no beta we die like women
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-24 22:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22225333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raeYhem/pseuds/raeYhem
Summary: Allura Altea wants to be free.And so, on the night before her wedding, she runs from home, leaving behind a disaster she could have never anticipated, her decision having drastic consequences. Making a deal, Allura acheives her goals and the cost might just be too high to pay.Five hundred years later, Lotor Daibazaal finds himself in the same position as the legendary Allura Altea. Will he make the same mistakes? With the horrible threat of ancient wars, twisted decisions and diplomatic relations he only now begins to unravel, he must hurry to save his people and most importantly, his family, with the aid of a mysterious woman who may or may not be who she says she it.
Relationships: Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Allura/Lotor (Voltron), Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 9





	1. The Beginning Of The End

**Author's Note:**

> this work is a complete rewrite of the previous work with the same title! You do not need to have read that one to enjoy this one.
> 
> Due to various reasons, I have decided to give this fic another try. I have decided to make an new work and not leech off the previous one, as I see that as the only way to go. I am unsure if there are even other people left in this fandom, but whether people read or not this fic, I just want to see it through, as it's my most ambitious project rn.
> 
> Lotura will always hold a special place in my heart, as it feels like a new Zutara for me and I continue to believe Lotor deserved better.
> 
> Thank you for checking out my work, I hope you like it! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!

Life could be considered easy for Allura Altea. She lives with a family who loves her in a luxurious mansion, in the rich town of Porthcawl. She doesn’t need to work, doesn’t leave the house, because her family is powerful and she has all that she wants in hand’s reach. Yes, from the outside, Allura Altea lives a perfect life, with a perfect family. _A sheltered life and a safe future_ , Coran always says. _What else could you need?_

Except she doesn’t. This shelter feels like a prison. Allura longs for freedom. She cannot leave the estate alone. The only place she has ever seen outside the richly decorated mahogany walls were the gardens, blooming with cherry blossoms and juniberries. Calming water streams that flow freer than her and singing birds that can paint the air with their music and adorn the sky with their moves. And this garden is what she has grown to hate the most: it gives the illusion of freedom. It gives her a glimpse of what she could have, but holds it so high above her head that she can never reach it. 

Mocking her. The rains a crude mirror of the tears running down her cheeks as she gazes from the window, always trough a wooden frame, always limited by what her parents wish her to see. Never enough. The wind that slips through her window a teasing whisper of what is so close yet so far, the distant sound of seagulls and chatter, and lively music. Never enough.

Maybe she’s just ungrateful and selfish and spoiled for not acknowledging all that was given to her. For wishing to see the world. That’s what one exasperated Meleanor had once told a five year old Allura. 

So she had sucked it up and put on one of those pretty smiles, one of those pretty dresses and had been polite and good. She was a pleasure to have in the room. All their guests congratulated her on her studies. She excelled in almost everything she did. But despite being a brilliant young girl, a prodigy, her teachers would label her, she would only chat with them about the weather, since it was the only thing deemed appropriate for her to discuss. They would pay her a compliment. She would thank them. Then they would leave and she would be stuck in the house. 

In her pretty little birdcage. 

As Allura grew older, the compliments began turning into questions. _Have you found a man? Are you yet to get engaged? Is there a special someone? Have your parents found you a suitable suitor? You are almost twenty four! Your season will be over soon. You should hurry! We don’t want to leave the great Alteans without a heir!_

The young woman always politely smiled and shook her head. _Not yet._

She could keep up the charade with guests, but when her father brought it up during a family dinner, for the first time in her life, Allura saw on the horizon her breaking point. 

Her aunts, Lafina and Lorelia had come to visit a week earlier and were leaving tonight. Her parents threw a huge dinner to bid them farewell and she found herself bored out of her mind and tired beyond human standards after a long day of putting on a charade for her lovely aunts.

That night, however, instead of gossip and pointless remarks, the two and father had something else to discuss and for once, Allura found herself interested in what was said. She listened with piqued interest yet silent, as she was afraid Alfor would notice her and send her out. They were talking about something important, the young girl could tell. About the Daibazaal family and other affairs. About the Terrans. Dimplomacy. Allura was high on their discussion, eager to learn more about the outside world. Everything she heard, she committed to memory like a loyal dog.

“It is quite a nuisance, that’s what it is!” Meleanor exclaimed in response to Lafina’s comment on gold trades. Allura had no idea what anything meant, but it was all so excruciating! “The Terrans are too demanding – they should know their place!” 

Lorelia raised the wine glass to her plush red lips and hummed in approval. “Indeed they should. It is not like you ever had any strong relations with them. It is out of place to demand such an atrocious discount on inland fares.”

Alfor leaned back in his chair and massaged the bridge of his nose. “Quite. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

”What else were we to do? If such comments had come from Haggar and Zarkon, it wouldn’t have been an issue. I say we cut them off completely, after all, I’m sure that we can find affordable lumber on our own lands.”

”It is not only that, my love, and we’ve discussed this already,” Lafina sighed, taking her wife’s hand in hers. “The people of Oriande are strongly against deforestations because of that blasted White Lion tale-“

”Lafina!” Meleanor exclaimed. “The White Lion is no tale!”

”In any case,” intervened Alfor as the two sister started each other down, “The Terrans have a noticeable military force and do not have a history of backing down from conflicts. Me and Meleanor will try to discuss some more reasonable terms. In fact, we have quite the occasion ahead of us.”

At that, Alfor’s gaze finally moved to Allura, who had been eating her steak in silence, absorbing their every word and had hoped to do so unnoticed for the rest of the night. Her father seemed to have other plans. She swallowed the food in her throat and leaned back in her chair, straightening her back as the other dinner members turned to look at her.

Her aunts exchanged an excited look before looking at her and their smiles melted as their took in her confusion and mild worry. Lafina turned to Meleanor and whispered harshly, “You haven’t told her yet?”

“W-what? Tell me what?” Allura asked, her previous hesitation replaced by curiosity. Dread pooled in her stomach as Meleanor pursed her lips and looked at her daughter, not even a tight smile brightening her expression. She almost looked guilty. Alfor cleared his throat. 

”Tell me what?” the young woman asked again, more forcefully this time. Her mother covered her mouth with a tissue and shot her husband a look as he opened and closed his mouth. The horrible feeling in her gut twisted again and Allura grew increasingly panicked. She looked form one parent to another, then to her aunts, then to her parents again. Something was wrong, and as she prepared to inquire further, Meleanor spoke.

”Your betrothed, dear.”

Allura blinked.

”My what?”

“He is a charming young man,” her father continued, trying to soothe the blow as the air left Allura’s lungs in slow, long drags. The words began registering and Alfor tried to talk again, noticing the growing dismay on her face. “Recently turned twenty seven. You haven’t met him, but I am convinced you’ll like him. His name is Lotor Daibazaal, truly surprising you haven’t met yet. Polite and well read. And I-” 

“No!” 

”I-it will strengthen our relations with the galrans even more. Zarkon and Haggar are good friends of ours, and, truly, we were hesitant at first, but one we met Lotor-“

” _No!_ ”

Alfor stopped abruptly, looking apologetic and annoyed at the same time. Heads turned back towards her and she felt naked under the judging glances, but she had her eyes fixed on her parents. She felt a knot growing in her throat and her green dress felt so constricting and tight, Allura could faint. Meleanor reached a hand to touch her on the arm, but she was quick to swat her away. She was not innocent either, and Allura didn’t want to listen. Didn’t want to understand.

They both had played a part in this. And Allura had never felt so betrayed. By her family. Her own flesh and blood were ready to strip her away from her last bit of freedom. 

“I- I don’t want to get married,” she declared, albeit a little quieter. “Especially not to a stranger! I- I wish to see the world!” 

A nervous laughter erupted from Alfor’s throat as his eyes darkened. “You are almost twenty five! This is important for your family.” _Why is he acting as if I’m in the wrong here,_ her mind raged. “There’s no time for things like that! You can see the world after-“ 

“No, father! You don’t understand: I don’t want to get married!” 

The shock and confusion on his expression quickly melted into an irritation she rarely saw. “That’s a childish dream, Allura,” he said. “You are a grown woman! The sole heir of our family! You can’t let our name die because of a stupid ambition. How can you be so selfish?” 

She let out a mocking laughter that was most definitely not lady like, sounding more like a dying peacock. She could not believe her ears. Her father took a deep breath and leaned back, as his own words finally reached his ears and he had the decency to look a bit ashamed. Allura could not care less. “Yo- You are unimaginable! You both travelled the world before you married! Why can’t I do it?” 

“Allura-“ her mother tired to cut in but she was ignored. 

“No, I have never left this house in two decades, does that seem normal to you?” she continued, voice straining. “You have crafted my entire life and-“ 

“How ungrateful can you be!” her aunt exclaimed as the same time as her wife. 

“-I am done sitting around being an object for you to display! Both of you!” 

Meleanor had the sense of looking guilty, before a mix of sadness and annoyance scrunched her nose. She stood up, towering over her, even from the other side of the table, like she had done – even unconsciously – her entire life. She fixed her blue eyes on her daughter and Allura shivered under her gaze, keeping her stance nonetheless. 

“That is enough. Go to your room and we will talk lat-“ 

Emotions stirred in the pit of Allura’s stomach. _We will talk later_ , that always meant she would get scolded later and the issue would never be touched upon again. No, no, no, she couldn’t let that happen. She slammed her fist onto the table, sitting up as well, surprising everyone in the room. She was done being a good little girl. She was now reaching the horizon and she let her thoughts, for once, flow unfiltered trough her mouth. 

“I want to be free!” she exclaimed, feeling tears chocking her. She blinked them away, continuing with a heavy voice. “I want to leave this house, this gentry, this _cage_ and see the world! New people! I don’t want to get married and I never did! _You_ want that. _You_ want me to get married, settle down and have children. Not me! You have always thought you know what’s best for me-“ 

“Young one, they are your parents,” Lafina said softly, “they love you!” 

“No, they _don’t_ ” 

An unbearable load of regret fell on her shoulders when she saw the hurt looks on her parent’s faces. She suddenly wished a hole would open in the ground and swallow her whole. Had such horrible emotions always been in her heart? Was she only feeling them now? When tears gathered in her eyes again, she didn’t stop them. Just as she didn’t stop herself from speaking again. 

“ They… they a-are just two _selfish pricks!_ ” 

“ _Allura!_ ” both Meleanor and Alfor echoed and she stepped back knocking over her chair. She mumbled something and turned around, ignoring her family’s calls after her. She made her way up the stairs, into her bedroom and shut the door with way more violence than needed. 

When the dust settled, she found herself crashing on the floor of her dark, quiet room. She heard voices downstairs, but were quick drowned out by sobs. By loud, ugly sobs. Was it her that was crying? She couldn’t tell. She hadn’t cried in years.

She didn’t move; sat there on the white wool carpet, in her green summer dress, hair falling from the perfect bun the maids always made her. Here she was. The good little girl. The perfect girl with the perfect life. Except this was the opposite. She had been selfish and mean but be the Gods damned if she was going to apologise. Not tonight, at least. Tonight she allowed herself to curl up on the floor and bawl her eyes out. She didn’t stop her parents when they came into her room, wrapped her in warm arms and told her she needed to calm down. This time, she didn’t swat them away, but their touch was cold and their words were empty.

They whispered soothing words, but Allura couldn’t hear them. _You’ll see you’re exaggerating. You’ll see it’s not that bad in the morning._

By the time she had fallen asleep, Allura Altea hadn’t figured out if the words were to soothe her or her parents. 

☾

On the day before her marriage, Allura was distant. She was disconnected from everything. A few days earlier she had met Lotor and to say she didn’t like him was an understatement. He was entitled, brooding, spoiled and watched her every move, obsessed over everything she did and creped her out and was the most two faced person Allura had ever met. 

Well, apart from herself. 

She had spent two hours with him, arguably the worst two hours of her life, which meant a lot. The only thing he had managed to do was drive her up the walls with his one syllable answers and the way in which his eyes bore holes in the back of her head. Every time he spoke, it was about the children they would have, and he referred to her as if she already belonged to him. His heavy breathing and seemingly constant need to touch her repulsed her; his palms were sweaty and he constantly rubbed them on the sleeve of her yellow dress. She pretended not to notice, but threw it in the fireplace as soon as she was left alone in her room. 

The last day she had of freedom was meant to be special, right? The night before your marriage was supposed to be filled with dreams of what the future held for you and your loved one. Her mother had urged her to sleep early so she would be well rested for her wedding day. Every since her outburst, two weeks ago, her parents had been treating her like she was made of glass. About to break any second. 

And although no one said anything, Allura could tell her parents were tense. She realised this union was vital for their family, from the little snippets of conversation she managed to catch. Links with the Daibazaal were deteriorating ever since the Altean family began trading with the Terran Republic, and the galra were not pleased with the Terrans, because _”they are too alike”_ Meleanor had said.

Allura didn’t know what to be more angry about – the fact that this surprise marriage held so much importance and responsibility or the fact that her parents didn’t even tell her about those responsabilities.

Alfor subtly reminded her how special marriage was in their culture and how lucky she was she had found a partner in the nick of time. _It’d be sad for our family name to die out with you. The legacy, Allura, it’s an honor!_ Meleanor had barely spoken to her, but then again, Meleanor had been lost in thought a lot more often, looking miserable as she pondered Gods knew what.

Allura had never felt so hollow, as she felt now, looking up at her room’s ceiling. There was still a party raging downstairs. Tradition called for the families to celebrate and get to know the in-laws, while the wife to be was supposed to spend the night with her future spouse, a romantic time, in the same fashion, to decide once and for all if they truly wanted to marry. Since she didn’t even have a choice, Allura refused to see Lotor. She didn’t know if she could bear to see him.

And she was only happy to stay away from a family celebrating the end of her life as she knew it. 

The last night she would spend in her bed, on the plush pillows, under the comforting warmth of her blankets. Between the white walls, decorated with her own paintings and other trinkets she had received from guests. The smell of juniberries filled the room and, while she usually basked in it, it felt intoxicating. She wanted to cry but she had no tears. She wanted to scream and burn down this house. 

Closing her eyes, the young woman tried to get some sleep. But the darkness was painted with images from an unhappy future, bearing children she doesn’t love, of a man she despises, in a house she hates more than this one. Dressed all pretty, on display, slowly going insane. This made her open her eyes and stand, resting her head in her hand.

She was about to lay back down when soft lute music distracted her. It was quieter than the music coming from downstairs, yet it seemed to drown it completely. With a soft exhale, she gazed towards the window with a question in her eyes. She got out of bed on shaky legs, putting on a soft silk robe over her night shift. 

Allura dragged her legs across the room to the opening leading to the forest. Trough the opened window, warm summer night air brushed by her gently and slipped into her room. She closed her eyes and let the winds caress her face for a second before the music began again. Without thinking, she spared one last glace around the room and pushed herself up by her arms, slowly lifting her legs trough the window and on the outside sill. She let out a long breath and a shy smile sneaked onto her face. Looking down, the fall suddenly seemed small. Insignificant. The music grew louder and louder, clouding her thoughts and she held onto one of the thick vines going out the wall of the house. 

Closing her eyes, Allura raised her face to the sky. Everything was drowned out by the sounds playing in her head, a laughter bordering on insane bubbling in her throat. The night itself seemed to be bending around her, the moon gazing down on her with loving eyes. She peered through her lashes at the stars and they peered back at her and she laughed. Bringing a hand up to her lips, she brushed her fingertips against them, and the intoxicating taste of freedom filled her to the brim with the ecstasy of adventure. This was it. This was what it felt like to be alive? She had never felt like this before, and Allura was going mad with it.

With all her strength, she clung to the weed and jumped away from the sill, wrapping her legs around the vine. Shutting her eyes and expecting impact, she hung on the side of her house for a few seconds. Shyly opening an eyes, she felt a smile growing onto her lips. She did it! She climbed down, grin growing wider and wider until she reached the ground. She was panting, sweaty and tired and her hands burnt. 

Allura had never felt so alive. 

She looked around. There was still the garden wall. She took one step towards it and a shrill voice made her snap her head around. Coran had spotted her. He jumped up from the chair he was sitting in, having tea with her father – of all people – and aunt Lafina. Alfor screamed for her and Allura found herself at a crossroad. Time seemed to slow down and her heart beat faster than it had ever. 

But the young woman had made her choice already. 

With a frown and all the anger she could muster, she yelled back some obscenity at them before turning on her heels and sprinting towards the back of the gardens, where she knew the wall was faulty. All sounds were drowned out by the adrenaline pumping trough her veins, the music guiding her and her own thoughts. She knew they were following her, calling for her, throwing treats. And she ignored it all. And it felt amazing. 

Ducking trough the gardens she knew so well, using this knowledge to her advantage, their cries soon died out. She crawled through the row of juniberries, knowing that itself would buy her more time. Her pace slowed down to an alert jog as she turned around, eyes scanning her surroundings. Despite her exhaustion, her smile refused to slip from her lips. Until she turned the corner around the glass house and saw it.

It was Lotor. And Haggar, his mother. She hadn’t seen her in ages and Allura covered her mouth with her hands and backed away again, rounding the corner back and leaning flush against the windows. Fuck!

She heard their voices. The glimpse of the older woman she had managed to get made Allura’s knees weak. Her hollow cheeks and pale skin imprinted themselves in her brain, but her eyes – her eyes had been worse. They were gazing at her how son, empty and cruel, and she recounted Lotor’s frightened look. Somehow, their conversation managed to sound over the beating of her heart.

”...leave me no choice!” Haggar whispered harshly.

”You fucking bitch,” Lotor rasped, sounding vaguely scared and angry. Allura shut her eyes tight. “You may be horrible, but even _you_ can’t possibly be serious.”

Laughter, followed by a sharp gasp and a choking sound. Allura made a squirming sound as she turned her head the other way, despite her eyelids being almost glued together. “And yet, I am,” Haggar said. Another gasp.

Just then, Alfor’s shout resonated trough the garden. Allura panicked, finally moving from where she was stuck in place, rounding the corner and coming face to face with what she feared most. Lotor was kneeling before his mother, clutching his abdomen, from where and awful lot of blood poured from a fresh wound Allura wasn’t sure she wanted to see. Haggar clutched a knife, holding it high above Lotor as her eyes snapped towards the younger woman.

For a moment no one moved, as both breathed heavily, staring at each other, Allura shaking from fear and anticipation, the tension in the air wounding tighter and tighter.

One, two three...

Lotor fell to the ground face first with a sickening thud and Haggar, akin to a snake, slipped away with inhuman speed, disappearing form Allura’s point of view.

Allura let out a broken sob and ran to Lotor side, turning him on his back and cradling his face in her hands. His hand was still tightly holding his side and his unfocused eyes met hers. She had never held any sympathy for this man, had hated him for taking away her life, but, ironically, he was the one to actually lose it.

”F-forgive me,” he said hoarsely, throwing himself into a coughing fit, before tiring himself out and falling limp.

Before Allura could even think, Alfor’s shout sounded again, this time closer and she threw another terrified look over her shoulder. Torn and confused, Allura stood, jumped over Lotor’s corpse, something tugging at her heart as her legs shook but didn’t fail her. With one last look at the scene she was abandoning, Allura fled for the garden wall.

Tears fell from her eyes as she ran, reaching the well and, there! Behind it, freedom. She pursed her lips and sped up, all thoughts leaving her head.

” _There!_ ”

Her step faltered for a second as her eyes narrowed towards the direction of the voice and she saw her Father and Coran running towards her. She gasped, before frowning again and sprinting towards her escape.

She didn’t think as she approached the brick wall. Let her instincts take over. Turning her sprint into long strides, she jumped. A laugh bubbled in her throat as she caught onto the top of the wall. The bricks scratched her fingers but the pain melted with her surroundings. She used her legs to push herself up, at the same time pulling her weight with her hands, clutching onto the intricate designs of the metal bars, until she proudly stood on the wall, blood dripping from her fingertips. She turned around to see Alfor and Coran stop dead in their tracks. She looked back at them, breathing heavily, hair dishevelled and clothes ruined. 

She was free. 

She caught her father’s eyes and held his gaze for a long moment. Her heart skipped beats and the moon shone bright and proud behind her. Lotor’s face briefly popped up in her mind before Allura made her mind up.

Turning her back to her family again and what would be the last time, she jumped on the other side, rolling onto the ground with a groan. No time to waste, no time to waste, the music sang. She scrambled to her feet and once again picked up towards the forest. She had observed them from her window her entire life. It felt unreal, running through the thick bushes, new scratches appearing on her face with every step. Twigs broke under her bare feet, now dirty and hurt by rocks. 

She ran until she was out of breath, collapsing into a large clearing. The music had died from her ears, now replaced with the soothing sounds of the forest. She gasped for air, crawling into a kneeling position looking down at the ground, when she heard something. Raising her head she was met with an impossible thing. She was met with a giant lion, made of moonlight, reeking of elegance. 

Allura stared at it and it stared back. 

With a squeak she fell back, scrambling to get away from it, when it spoke. 

“Allura Altea. Child, you are confused, are you not?” 

She cocked her head. D-did it just speak? Curiousity drowned out the fear and she nodded hesitantly. “C-can you help me?” 

The lion shook with deep laughter. The sound relaxed her and she felt safe. Weirdly. “I can offer you what you carve most, little one. I am the White Lion!” it roared. Only then did Allura notice its jaw had stayed closed. Despite it not opening its mouth, the words sounded loud and clear in her head. “Do you wish to pay the price?” 

Allura shuddered. She didn’t like the sound of that. 

Perhaps she should return, a small voice rang in her head. She didn’t know how her family would react to the stunt she pulled. They would be angry. Enraged really. That, she was sure, she didn’t want. It was the last thing she wanted. “What do you offer me?” she found herself saying, voice shaking. “W-what is the price?” 

The lion moved its tail around in curiosity, sitting back on its paws. “Your soul, of course. Give me your soul and I will teach you powers you have never dreamed of. You will never have to return. Ever again. You will forever be free to travel the world.” 

Her heartbeat picked up once again. Forever? She let out a long breath. W-would it be bad? To live without a soul? She shook her head. She couldn’t be actually considering this. She didn’t need this deal to be free. _But without it will you ever be free? Your family will hunt you down,_ a sly voice in her head mused. _The White Lion can help you._ She looked down at her hands, now seeing the damage her escape had brought. If this spirit helped her... she wouldn’t have to run from her family. She could be... free. 

She didn’t need to be the perfect, good little girl. Not anymore. 

She could be... free. 

Forever. 

“Yes.” 

☾

“ Lance, are you sure you know where we’re going?” 

“Of course I do, Pidge, shut up.” 

“Ooh, I don’t like this place, it’s giving me the creeps.” 

“Everything gives you the creeps, Hunk.” 

“Keith, I said _shut up_!” 

“Lance you’re making more noise than us!” 

“Can I help you kids?” 

All four of them screamed in unison at the soft voice ringing behind them, turning around and hiding behind a pale boy with a mullet. 

They were met with a pair of blue and purple eyes. Short white hair framed her dark face and she had two pink tattoos decorating her cheeks under her eyes, in the shapes of boomerangs. She offered a warm smile and looked them up and down with suspicion hidden behind her bright eyes. 

“See! I told you I know what I saw!” hissed one of the kids. 

“Are you lost?” the woman prompted. 

“A-actually,” one of the said, the youngest one with dirty blonde hair stepped up, “our friend stumbled over your house the other day and he accidentally broke your window.” 

”We, ah, we came to apologise. And offer you this,” one of them mumbled, vaguely gesturing towards his friend.

The girl held out a basket, covered with a red piece of cloth. The woman leaned forward and picked up a corner of fabric, lifting it to see a warm pie. She hummed, delighted.

“That is a story I would like to hear,” she chuckled. “Why don’t you kids come inside? I can make some tea.” 

They all seemed to exhale at the same time, a weight taken off of their shoulders. The boy with a mullet smiled. “You are very generous, thank you for, you know, not being mad. I’m Keith. This is Hunk, Pidge and the lanky one is Lance. May I ask for your name?” 

The woman ushered them inside with a trained beam on her face that looked unnatural. She spoke with a sad voice. “My name is Lura Arus. I don’t really get visitors.” 


	2. Lotor Daibazaal Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor receives some shocking news on the eve of his birthday that will change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _it's been 84 years_

“This war has gone on for far too long.” 

Zarkon hummed and raised the glass of wine to his lips. His eyes carefully watched the Terran diplomat, Commander Iverson, as he spoke, his face neuter and his posture straight and intimidating. On the other side of the room, he saw in the corner of his vision, Honerva, her hands clasped together, watching the man with great interest. The sharp angles of her face catching the dim light of the afternoon in a mesmerizing way. Her gaze shifted to him for a moment, and he tilted his head. 

“It has been 500 years of on and off conflict, and what have we achieved? Our lands are barren, our people are worn out and trade has suffered greatly. Old conflicts should be left behind. My people have apologised repeatedly and we have no intention of fighting anymore.” 

The Daibazaal lord put his cup on the table and rolled his shoulders, clearing his throat. “Commander, lord Sendak has reported recent attacks on our harbours by rogue Terran navies. Who are you to come in and demand negations, whilst you are unable to control your own men.” 

The Terran huffed. “Those are but false reports, lord Zarkon. With all due respect, all it takes is a letter and you will find that no such thing has occurred.” 

“Although,” Honerva quipped in, “rogue Terran troops are a real issue.” 

“I do not disagree,” Iverson continued with a twitch of his good eye. “But aren’t rogue troops an issue on both sides? Galran pirates ransacked our cities for almost three centuries – especially with the rise of that horrid woman – or are you to tell me those are not your people?” 

Zarkon’s eyes narrowed dangerously. It was true that in the history of the 500 Year War, most of the outlaws going against the tide were of Galran origin. He rested his elbow on the table and rubbed at his temples, feeling a headache building up. “Pirates are pirates. They are outcasts in our culture, but I understand your point Commander. In truth I am also tired of this war.” 

“Then let our generation put an end to this,” Iverson quickly added, sounding vaguely pleased as he sat down. 

“I must confess, “ Honerva began abruptly, “I have been dwelling on this matter for quite a long time now. “ His interest piques, Zarkon turned his head to his wife, a question clear in his eyes. She didn’t spare him a glance, catching Iverson’s gaze. “The assassination of Lotor the I all those decades ago has indeed been a tragedy which has led to numerous disasters. The Galra appreciate the fact that you recognise your guilt, as it was your prince who killed ours. But you are right, Commander- we cannot let an ancient death guide our future.” 

“My love-“ Zarkon tried, but then she started again. 

“This is a matter of pride. A price has been already paid for this atrocious action, in the shape of Altean blood and my people do not want to further bloody their hands and partake in another genocide.” 

Honerva was right. The Galra, and most importantly, Emperor Zarkon the I and his wife, Haggar, had acted rashly, along with the Terran King at the time, taking out their anger first on the Alteans, then going to war with each other. No one had dared confront them about it, fearing for another anger fit, but now, Zarkon realised they had never paid the price and so many people had suffered that were never even involved in this. He was ashamed, and he realised after hearing his wife talk, that it was their duty to spare the people even more bloodshed. They had to atone. 

As he realised this little speech had been more for him than for anyone else, he looked at his wife. Honerva threw him a little smile, a private gesture, short and sweet, going unnoticed by the other members to the discussion. Zarkon sighed. 

“What do you suggest, then, Commander?” 

Iverson lifted his chin, seemingly in thought, as if what he was about to say hadn’t been obsessively rehearsed. “Marriage. I offer the hand of Takashi Shirogane, blood of the ancient king of our land, to tie in the conflicts of our people. Along with trading routes and land.” 

He didn’t need to peer at Honerva to feel her tense up. Her eyes bore holes in the back of his head and he could almost envision her shaking her head. They both knew Iverson was right – it was what the people needed. But understandably, they were both hesitant to offer Lotor, their son, without his say in it. Arranged marriages had went out of fashion after the very disaster that had caused the War. But if... if no one knew it was arranged... it could work. 

Zarkon closed his eyes and felt a knot tie in his throat as Honerva’s voice sounded in the room: 

“I find that to be an excellent suggestion, Commander Iverson. 

☾

There were times when Lotor Daibazaal found himself basking in attention. That had been when he was very young though, and Dayak would offer him a smile for doing something good. His little eyes would light up with excitement and he would go and rant to his mother and her friends, them giggling and congratulating him, amused by his childish pride. There were those times, when he wanted and loved when his father acknowledged him. It made his small heart blossom. As time went on he found the attention more and more suffocating. As he found in times like these, when he was sat in the library, his tutor’s eyes boring holes into him as he read poetry. 

He didn’t even know why he was supposed to do this, despite the fact that both his mother and his governess, mind you, explained it to him almost on a daily basis, the words flew by his ears like bees flew home, neglecting all the other flowers in favour of reaching their sweet, sweet hive. 

It was nearly six in the evening, which meant it was nearly time for supper and he would be free. Peeking over the edge of the book at Krolia’s expressionless face, he squeaked quietly when she narrowed her eyes and returned to the poem, only to realise he had been holding the book upside down. He flipped it with burning cheeks and saw his tutor shaking her head slowly out of the corner of his eye. 

The ticking of the clock was starting to drive him insane. 

“Maybe you should try actually reading, Young Master Lotor,” Krolia’s mocking tone sounded in the silent library. “It will pass the time.” 

An annoyed, embarrassed grunt made his way out of his throat, because she was right. Well... it couldn’t hurt too much. 

Lowering his eyes to the small letters, he was surprised to find today he hadn’t been given that godforsaken book of boring Galran poetry, which his father insisted was absolutely necessary to read, at least once – _’Your legacy, my son, you should learn of your culture!_ – but unfortunately the galra were not good poets. They were horrible, in fact. 

If someone rhymed blood with blood for more than six verses, then perhaps they should consider a different specialisation. 

But what Krolia had given him today was a thin volume he hadn’t even bothered to look at thoroughly. As his interest in the book grew and he sat straighter and straighter, he could see Krolia’s knowing grin with his mind’s eye. He wanted to sigh, but it came out as a gasp as he finally saw what he was holding: Ancient Altean poetry! 

His thin lips split into a joyful smile and he glanced at Krolia who was doing a poor job at pretending not to pay him any mind. He returned his gaze to the writing and flipped through the pages, each decorated with elegant paintings and models, drawn in gold over billing skies, the black letters, with titles written in elegant cursive were so much more appealing now. 

Oh what a fool he’d been! 

There were little notes here and there, but Lotor didn’t recognise the writing. 

_A lady clad in silver stars,_

_With ice cold locks and bright blue eye_

_Swaying beneath winds of summer_

_Calls for slander, stop and wonder._

The second verse was circled. He flipped through the pages until he reached one painted in rich reds and yellows, a beautiful sunset with flowers carved in gold along the margins of the page. The title read simply – star. 

_Burn bright, alight, behind your lie and dream:_

_Imagine me, my tired eyes, my drawn out scream,_

_We stare up at you, my love, we stare and scheme._

The beautiful page was tainted with a thin coal train, circling the last two verses and an arrow leading from the to a small note, crammed on the side of a page, in a poor attempt not to ruin the book anymore: _I promise we will meet again on equal ground._

He felt fascinated, and as he analysed the book more and more he realised with shock that the notes alternated between two different handwritings. Though similar, one was stronger, less curvy, yet thinner, opposed to the other, where it looked as if someone had written with an actual piece of coal. He flipped yet another page, where a note reading _I am near, you know, up the hill where we saw the willow_ led to a verse – _Clear your head, forgotten, we dock at dawn_. 

“ _Lotor_!” 

“Dearest End!” He exclaimed loudly slamming the book shut and startling Krolia awake, who immediately looked guilty to have fallen asleep. 

Dayak called again and Lotor was finally struck by the fact that it had gotten very dark, very quick. 

“You should hurry, Young Master.” 

“Shit,” he replied, tucking the book underneath his elbow and darting out of the room, before she even finished the sentence, her low chuckle following him into the hallway. 

He ran down the stairs, dodging a very annoyed looking Dayak, who caught his shirt. 

“Apologies for bothering you, _Young Master Lotor_ ,” she said mockingly as Lotor widened his eyes, falling back and hovering a little above the hard wood, supported by Dayak’s always surprisingly strong hold. She let him go and he crashed onto the stairs with a subtle ‘oof’. He looked up at her with a tight smile and she raised a sharp eyebrow. 

“I’m sorry, Dayak.” A phrase he had said so many times as a young kid that he could barely say it without hearing it in that thin, acute voice his mother would mock him in. 

_His mother! Fucking End, his mother and father had returned today!_

“Hurry up,” Dayak prompted as if reading his thoughts – which would in truth not be that surprising. “The tea is getting cold.” 

He did as told, without more words and skipped down the stairs and across the lounge to the dining room, throwing the huge doors open to see Honerva and Zarkon sitting at opposite ends of a long table, laughing together. A smile raised the corners of his mouth without him even noticing, as he padded to his chair, but his joy was short lived as Zarkon’s voice boomed in the large room. He had to give it to Krolia, it _did_ have poor acoustics. 

“Glad to see you have decided to join your poor aging mother and father.” 

He grumbled, though his cheeks filled with blood and he pulled out his chair, settling before an already cold steak. His parents were already enjoying a freshly baked tart and some red wine, leftover from the main course. 

“How were your travels? I trust you met no issues with the highway men?” He inquired, digging into his food. The Galran territories were dealing with many issues regarding thieves and bands of leftover pirates and rebels and he would lie if he said he hadn’t spent three days worrying over his parents’ safe travels. 

“We travelled alright,” Honerva answered simply, an edge in her voice, clear she wished to change the subject. 

And change she did. As Dayak joined them at the table, the three broke into chatter, which quickly lost Lotor’s interest, the heaviness of the book he had found earlier pressing in his lap. The faint purple of the window glowed in the late afternoon sun, contrasted by the bright lights falling from the crystal decorated chandeliers. The long table occupied most of the room with its richly decorated candle holders and the white linen covering it with intricate designs he found himself following with his fork. 

The conversation moved from topic to topic and at some point it drifted into silence, but he hadn’t managed to pinpoint what had been the cause. When he lifted his eyes, he noticed his father looking in the distance. 

“Lotor,” Honerva’s soft voice rang from the far left of the table. She and Zarkon stood on opposite sides, therefore demanding an equal amount of respect. And made it rather annoying for him to move his head to and fro between the two. “You’ve fallen rather quiet. Are you alright?” 

_Shouldn’t I be asking you that?_

“Of course. I’m feeling a bit tired, perhaps.” He shrugged. “Madam Krolia had been pretty merciless today with the art history bit. The End Beyond current seems to have taken a liking to towers, though I’d have expected the priests of Oriande to have focused more on gates. Guess they were in a bit of a limbo,” he jokes, earning himself a chuckle from everyone at the table. 

It was nice, despite the rather eerie silence that had befallen them. He’d missed his parents, reluctant as he was to admit it. Their presence had always been a steady warmth in his life, not too constricting yet never close enough to being resembling a net as he neared his more... rogue teenage years. Lotor finished his already cold dinner, though he didn’t have much to complain about. It was food either way. His thoughts kept steadily drifting to the worn out poetry book he had ended up sitting on, but even so he still heard the rhythmic clicking of Zarkon’s heel on the floor, as his leg shook – his way of keeping the rest of his body steady. 

He didn’t miss how his mother avoided his eyes either. Dread took root in the pit of his stomach and flared to life when Zarkon cleared his throat. Lotor looked up with a bit of a delay, just enough to miss the way his parents peered at each other knowingly. He swallowed a lump in his throat he hadn’t even noticed building up. 

Throughout his life, Lotor had managed to pin point certain turning moments as they were happening, as opposed to looking back on his memories. Something in his gut often told him, when something happened, whether it would alter the course of his life or stick with him as a mild inconvenience. Such as the moment when he first started seeing Dayak as something else other than a humourless brick wall. His parents had been away and that meant staying with Dayak. Back then he had to admit he wasn’t her biggest fan. He had been splayed on the grass, on the mud, propped on his elbows, admiring a bird. He remembered messily trying to recreate the animal before running to the older woman who had been reading the newspaper. Lotor had handed her the small drawing with a wide beam. It reminds me of you! Dayak had taken it, visibly shocked and, dirty as it was, she had carefully folded it and placed it on the inside of her vest before, albeit reluctantly, offered him a hug. 

Or when Korlia had first arrived, when he had grown older and his parents had decided it was time to take his studies to a new level, one Dayak simply wasn’t cut out for. He had, of course, insisted she stay and it was barely an argument as everyone had already agreed that Dayak was family. Madam Krolia had brought change, change sixteen year old Lotor had sensed but hadn’t comprehended yet. The night she had arrived, Lotor had also had one of the worst nightmares of his life, opening his eyes to the close gaze of a small, pale boy and his warm breath on Lotor’s face. He doesn’t remember ever screaming so loudly, but Krolia was there in a moment and shook him awake before his parents even awakened. 

Such a feeling he was getting now. 

It was gut wrenching and he guessed Dayak could see it right through his false pretence of a sudden focus on the wine glass before him. 

“Lotor, my son,” Zarkon said with a thick voice. “Your mother and I have news.” 

He breathed in sharply. “Oh?” 

His father looked helplessly at Honerva, whose glare could kill in that moment as she stared her husband down. Whatever it was they wanted to say, neither was too eager to break the ice. Zarkon relented in the end and he offered Lotor a pitiful smile. The younger man didn’t like it. 

“The discussions with the Terran official were most successful,” he began, trying to avoid Lotor’s eyes, which was no easy feat as he tried to read something, anything, in his father’s gaze. “They are happy to cease conflict.” 

“I am sensing a ‘but’?” 

Dayak laughed nervously. She knew. 

Seemingly getting fed up with dancing around the elephant in the room, an elephant Lotor couldn’t see, she put her glass down and prompted, “We have arranged something.” 

“Your marriage.” 

The world seemed to slip from underneath Lotor’s feet as he looked back and forth between his parents, whom avoided his questioning, increasingly desperate eyes. 

It was a joke. Surely. 

Right? 

But their ashamed expressions didn’t support his theory and Lotor let out a choked sound, between disbelief and shock. Zarkon continued. “It is the best way to move forward. You must understand. I heard he is a nice man.” 

“Your father and I were an arranged marriage too,” Honerva smiled tightly, trying to cheery him up. “It works out. We will be by your side at every step, my-“

Lotor pushed his chair back and stood, the room falling quiet. 

He imagined yelling, throwing a tantrum. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He- he had assumed, he had thought- no, no, no. So little regard for me! He huffed and his fists clenched. He felt as if in a trance. 

_You clearly don’t love me. You clearly don’t care what I want._

_Selfish pricks._

“May I be excused?” he said instead. 

“Of course.” 

_It works out._ Does it really? He thought, as he ascended the stairs, the house feeling emptier than it had ever before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! I am back with this short chapter pls take my humble peace offering
> 
> it was initially supposed to be longer, but i decided to split it in half as to be able to post now rather than next month, and this way, I will be able to post the other bit shortly.
> 
> I hope you're all happy and healthy and remember to leave kudos or a comment I always appreciate those!!!!


	3. Layered Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor's seemingly prophetic dreams prompt a visit to Kral Zera the following morning, with a new, unexpected companion by his side. In the past, we witness the aftermath of Allura's runnning away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this is so late! i hope all of you are staying inside and washing your hands!!!! kudos and comments are always appreciated and next chapter, our kids finally meet!

Lotor’s room is quiet as he stands by the window, twisting a ring on his finger. The night was peaceful, dark sky and an abundance of stars, the air quiet. However, the silence was a stark constant to the serene scene, as if the atmosphere was holding its breath, waiting. A row of vines fell besides his large window, swaying in the soft breeze. He felt taunted, in a way, but he didn’t know what was pulling on the edges of his thoughts.

_Run, run, run..._

It was gnawing at his quiet, the soft whisper that oddly enough didn’t sound like his voice. He frowned and rubbed at his temples. Ah what a brilliant night and what an annoyance ate at his peace. The poetry book all but laid forgotten on his bed, all of his previous interest in it gone in a flash.

End beyond... this was not how he had expected his day to go.

Resting his head on the wall behind him, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm the restless feelings dancing in his stomach. There was instinct and there was reason and he didn’t know which was pulling so insistent at the edges of his mind. He had wanted to share his findings with his mother tonight. She had always told him tales of the Alteans, before the war. She had prided herself with her heritage, but the way Zarkon looked at her when she spoke, the way the exchanged glances when the matter was brought up has often seemed off.

As if something had happened between the Galrans and the Alteans. But that was not true. The extinction of the Alteans has just been an unfortunate consequence of the war. 

Collateral victims.

A quiet moan caught his attention and he peered down, broken from his little reverie, only to see a quick shadow darting between bushes. He didn’t have time to ponder it when a knock on the door broke the silent room.

”Lotor?”

Dayak.

_Death beyond, can’t they leave a man to brood in peace._

He didn’t answer when she knocked a second time, nor when she knocked a third. It was quiet after that, and only then did he push the doors open and a silver of light from the torches in the hallway poured into his room. Dayak was gone.

But her presence lingered in his mind. It angered him. After that, his parents couldn’t even face him after what they’d done, sending Dayak. Knowing he’d likely snap at her, not at them. They were right, but it pissed him off. He heard whispers off from the staircase and, with a deep frown, he slammed the door, if only to be obnoxious. 

It’s not like he hadn’t considered arranged marriage growing up. He was a nobleman, afterall. But his parents had made it clear as he grew older that he would marry whoever caught his eye. They’d given him that liberty, among others and now it felt as if it had all been a joke to them. 

He felt as if they’d played him for nothing else other than enetertainment, promising him love and pulling it from under his feet the second they had the chance.

It was cruel, so cruel, and Lotor wanted nothing more than to run away. Casting a glance to the window, the vines swaying into view, he felt that push again. 

And suddenly, Lotor felt very tired. 

Brushing a large hand down his face he glanced at the large clock on the wall and then back at the door. Discarding his clothes as he went, he crashed onto the bed and sunk into the mattress like a rock at the bottom of the sea. 

It would be better. It would all be better tomorrow.

  


_There’s light and there’s dark and they’re melting together. Shades of purple, deep blue and black, the swish of robes besides him and a quick glance of golden thread as steps on stone fade away. He’s breathing, but it’s not as if he wants to. There’s a weight on his chest and a blade grows before his eyes. It’s wobbly and he can barely make it out._

_The stars dace before his eyes, glowing bright as if coming closer, before fading into the background and growing again. He feels as if he’s falling, the ground beneath him unstable. He catches a glimpse of plush lips and white hair and a particular blue shawl, which then falls over his body. Warmth spreads trough him and he closes his eyes, feeling a calloused hand caressing his cheek, going down his body._

_Something wraps around his neck and he goes dizzy. He hears shouts, as if underwater and colour bleeds into the darkness and he finds himself in the sunset he had seen in the poetry book. There’s soft music playing and he feels that urge again, this time giving in._

_And he runs, fast, trough woods, and he feels free and light. There’s a mansion in the distance, that doesn’t quite look like his home, and a girl hanging from a window, wrapped in a blue shawl._

Find her, _a raspy voice urges, one that sounds vaguely familiar. Blue eyes flash before him and dark skin and a strand of hair falling between the pools of azure._ Lest history repeats itself.

_And Lotor awakes, though it all feels off._

  


A loud screech draws everyone at the party away from the place where Allura had jumped from the fence and it all seems to die out as the shout echoes again and people gather around by the glasshouse. The air is crispy and tense, knots tightening. Alfor is already at his wit’s end, unable to drive the sight of his daughter’s eyes from his memory, the determination and – and the _hate_ he had seen in them. It drilled something into his bones, something he doesn’t want to explore yet.

There is a body in the garden, Alfor notices. Haggar is hunched over it, wailing as if the End Beyond has opened its gates. The halo of white hair that peeks from behind the woman’s figure calls back the waves of frustration as he remembered white hair swaying in the wind, alight with life and the so called freedom and he clenches his fist.

” _No!_ ” Zarkon shouts and joins his wife by Lotor’s lifeless body. She is crying now, shoulders shaking and Zarkon’s cheeks wet with tears move something within Alfor.

”Who would do such a horrid thing!?” he heard Lafina murmur, but in the still scene she might’ve as well shouted.

”Isn’t it obvious?” someone piped in.

”Alfor’s daughter. Why else would she run?”

”The blood on her hands!” someone else added. 

”Killer!” 

Alfor’s world was turned upside down as the crow slowly came to a conclusion. Meleanor’s eyes widened and she looked as lost as he did. She brought a hand to her chest, something he had seen her do often lately, gasping for breath. The horror on her face and her beautiful eyes filling with tears were enough to steady Alfor a little. He could not let his family drift apart anymore than it had already.

It was impossible! And Coran seemed to agree, his warm hand coming to steady him, a weight on his shoulder.

”Allura would never do such a thing,” he called and eyes turned to him. “She has been nothing but a pleasure to have around.”

”Yes she ran! Guilty men run!”

Anger flared beneath his skin and his fists clenched, pushing Coran’s arm from his shoulder – he didn’t turn to see the look of hurt in his eyes. “My daughter is not a killer!” he roared. “Why would she chose to take a life when it is the thing us, as alchemists, treasure most!”

He felt Meleanor’s eyes on him. For the first time, not allowing Allura to master alchemy was starting to backfire. But no one here knew that. No one had to know. They just had to buy it. The original texts forbid and alchemist from taking life. It could just be enough to drive the guilt from her name.

But what if she had indeed killed Lotor?

_She had no reason!_ Alfor thought, albeit a little desperate. _It’s not like she was against the marriage. Sure, maybe she’d been reluctant at first, but she had understood in the end._

But before he could speak again, Haggar’s fragile whisper silenced the croud.

”It was that bastard Léon,” she croaked, raising her teary eyes from her son’s lifeless ones. “I saw him and L- and m-my son arguing earlier. He wanted to marry the princess for the power,” she spit. “It was the fucking Terrans!” 

The mod flared then, with argument. Alfor’s breath seemed to have left him, as something between further suspicion and relief and bitter betrayal made its way into his heart. Meleanor has disappeared from the garden, and so had Coran, but not Zarkon had stood, his cold gaze fixing the Terran king and his son. 

Prince Léon, a tan young man with short, caramel hair was an arrogant prick. Alfor has never liked him, which was why he had chosen Lotor for his daughter. 

“Is this true?” his besfriend asked, disbelief on his tongue, directing his angry eyes at the king and his son. “Nothing but a political ploy,” he almost shouted, “at the expense of my _son’s life_?” 

_This night was supposed to be a celebration,_ Meleanor thought as the brawl outside escalated. She was laying in a chaise, slowly regaining her breath. The pain was still sharp in her chest, but it was slowly dying down to the muted thing that had been pressing on her for the past few months. She felt weak, and tonight had drained her quicker than she had hoped.

It all melted together, in a pot of misery for her to marinate in. The emptiness in Allura’s eyes from the seconds the first guests arrived – topped with the way life had drained from her leading up to this night – the few seconds of terror when everyone ran across the yard, only to find out her daughter, good little Allura, was running away.

And then the sight of her on the fence, clutching a fist to her chest, before her arms went limp. The few seconds in which she had looked more alive than Meleanor could remember seeing her.

And it left behind a sour question, one she knew to be plaguing her husband as well.

_Why did she run?_

They’d given her everything she’d ever wanted. Offered the best education, and she had indeed grown into a brilliant young lady. They’d found her a good and kind man, a marriage that would also benefit all of them. She had always been happy...

”Was she?” Meleanor voiced suddenly and the softest of steps halted behind her. “Was she happy?”

Coran let out a little sigh and came to rest on the chaise next to her. Dark bags had grown under his eyes with all the nights he had been spending awake, setting everything up – only to end in this fuckig shitshow of a party.

”That isn’t what Alfor asked me.”

She pursed her lips, quirked ever so slightly with the shadow of a smile. “Him and I... we’ve drifted. And I don’t know if we share the same thoughts we used to.”

There wasn’t any specific indication in her words, but Coran seemed to understand everything she wanted to say. He glanced at the fireplace, the cackling embers painting the room in a cosy atmosphere that made Meleanor want to close her eyes and keep them that way.

Would reality be kinder, if she were blind? Would her mind be more at ease if she had been unable to see Allura’s joy drain as the years passed and days numbered to today? Would it all be easier? She had ignored it, told herself she knew best, trusted Alfor, Coran, _herself_ to know better than her. And what had it earned her? All the times she’d found her daughter hunched over maps and histories, upholsteries depicting adventure, the tales books had fed her of sorcerers and solders and pirates.

She’d ignored it all. And her prize was a daughter who had preferred to risk it all for a taste of moonlight and life.

Meleanor hadn’t realised she was crying until she felt Coran’s gentle embrace around her shoulders. She brought up a hand to feel her wet cheeks. She deserved it, the pain in her chest, the shortness of breath and the self loathing that started seeding in her stomach the second she realised-

”We did this,” she rasped. “We did this to her.”

Coran didn’t talk. Didn’t need to. Perhaps he didn’t realise all the Meleanor has realised right now. Perhaps he would realise it at some point.

All she hoped was it would dawn on them, on him and Alfor, before it was too late.

”They’ve all agreed she’s innocent,” Coran said, when she calmed down a little. “As if it was ever a question.”

It was. She knew... she’d never be able to quite shake it off, the fear that seized her when it dawned on her what they’d drive Allura to do. Meleanor had, unlike everyone else, truly considered her a suspect, if even for a moment, because the look in Alfor’s eyes – he had thought of it, just...just not like she did. He had thought of it, in a moment’s despair, because Meleanor knew him.

She’d thought of it in the first moment of clarity she’d had in ages.

”Who killed him?”

”Léon of Terra,” Coran answered, his voice wavering, as if he didn’t really buy it. “Haggar saw him and Lotor arguing earlier this evening, over Al-“ he coughed, “-over what this marriage ensues for their respective kingdoms. Léon denies it.”

”She has motive...”

”Léon?”

”He. He has motive.” She turned her head. “I’m tired...”

”It’s been a long nights.”

They drifted into silence and both were surprised when they were not met with the previous chaos from outside. Meleanor stood on shaky legs, knowing Coran would support her.

After all, he’d promised to be there until the end.

☾

The morning light seeped in trough the curtains, causing Lotor to groan, exhausted. He’d had a horrible night’s sleep, and he still couldn’t shake off this feeling of dread building in the back of his mind.

That voice... it was so familiar and he felt so stupid for being unable to place it.

He sat up on his elbows, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and blinking a few times. The sun had barely risen and his stiff body called for more sleep but he had plans for today. 

Odd or not, the dreams must’ve meant something – that was simply how things worked. That blue shawl, more turquoise now when he thought of it, _blasted be the mind for remembering the most useless of things and not dreams_ , seemed awfully common to be common. He’d seen it in every dream he’d has during the night; and what better place to find trinkets as such other than the busy market of Kral Zera. Besides... with what had happened yesterday he had to get a few things off of his chest.

But when he finally stood, his back cracked with an obscene pop and he yelped loudly... causing a black figure to emerge rapidly from underneath his bed. Lotor made a noise between a high-pitched screech and a deep shout, that came close to the sound o a dying whale. The sleek, black body darted around his room and he quickly wobbled on his feet jumping on a dress chair and clutching a pillow to his chest in a very manly manner.

He was hit with a sense of déjà vu as he watched it disappear underneath his dresser, recalling seeing a similar shadow last night, outside his window.

_Oh, End, let it not be a rat, let it not be a rat...._

Lotor stood unmoving for a minute or two, until a small head peeked from under the furniture and he drew in a breath sharply. Sharp years and blue and... orange?. Orange accents painted black fur. A small snot and long whiskers, and its dark eyes seemed to be gawking right back at him.

”Who the fuck are you?” Lotor asked and when the cat made no other move, he slowly put a foot back on the floor – which caused the creature to dart out from under the dresser and launch itself as Lotor.

He landed on the ground with a loud crash and when he opened his eyes, the feline’s face was closer than he thought. He crossed his eyes trying to look at it, his fear dying down to make space for curiousity.

”I see you found Kova.”

The cat shrieked as Lotor stood suddenly, curling in on itself in Lotor’s lap as he glanced up to see Kolivan in his doorway, holding a tray of food and clean towels slung over his arm. A long, thick braid made its way down his shoulder and the otherwise stoic expression gave way to the tiniest quirk of lips.

”Kova?”

Kolivan nodded towards the ball of fur before beginning to move around his room as natural as always, setting the tray on his desk and beginning to pick up discarded clothes. “He’s rather annoying when he wants to, the little bugger. He’s been here for as long as I can remember,” he continued, depositing the thick towel on the edge of his bed. “If you feed him, he sticks around, if you don’t, he raises hell. I’ll be in a moment with the water.”

Kolivan had his way of barging in, as if he sensed Lotor needed something, and he did indeed need to bathe, since last time he’d been... to distracted.

It didn’t feel as pressing as it had felt under the cover of the dark. His parents were most understanding, or perhaps he could work something out with his betrothed. Maybe he could even find a way around it. He felt unrest, the same odd whispers that had plagued him the night before, but he ignored it, in favour of opening up the screen and looking trough the cupboards for some soap.

Ah, he should pick up some more from that little shop he’d found some weeks ago, tucked away in an alley behind the bookshop. Ran by a lovely lady – Ven’tar, if he was not mistaken – and her wife. And it was the best perfume shop he’d ever seen, like something out of a-

The book! The poetry book!

He emerged from behind the screen just as Kolivan entered with the large bucket of hot water. Lotor coloured quickly, having forgotten his state of undress, and turned around, not before seeing Kolivan’s eyebrows shoot to the ceiling.

”It’s not as if I raised you,” the old man grumbled, setting his bath up and Lotor spluttered indignantly:

”Can’t a young man be cut some slack.”

He heard his chuckle and the soft thud of the bucket being lowered to the ground, before Kolivan cleared his throat. “Dayak wanted me to tell you Krolia is out tonight, some family emergency I couldn’t bother to listen to. She asked me to fill in, but-“

”Yes, yes, it’s alright, just tell her we did some stretches or whatnot.”

Lotor heard the smile in Kolivan’s next words. “What a life has the End Beyond blessed me with, I get paid to carry water up the stairs.”

The young man laughed and his butler – more of a uncle at this point – made his leave.

Returning his attention to the book, laying innocently on the middle of his bed, Lotor realised that must’ve been what he owed his horrible back pain to; he’d fallen asleep right on it. And now so has Kova. 

He wanted to shoo the cat or pull it out from under him, but Death Beyond was the little thing s much heavier than he looked. So he left it for later. He did feel dirty anyway.

He hummed lazily as he washed, getting the grime out of his hair and working out the knots – what horrid reminder that he had slept uncaring for his poor scalp – and thoroughly scrubbed his body with the last of his favourite soap, so as to have the absence of it nag at him all day. Drying himself and tossing the towel away, he put up his hair in braids, as Honerva had done when his hair had grown long enough. He fiddled with the bobby pins until he was finally satisfied. 

Lotor then paced across his room, and fnding that to his dismay, Kolivan had taken anything that was not in a drawer or closet and he was painfully reminded of the one time he’d threatened to do so if he didn’t start tidying his room more. _How petty,_ he thought with fond annoyance. As he shuffled around to find his bag after getting dressed, Kova meowed loudly. He lifted his eyes and smiled at the cat who stretched, claws digging little holes in his bed. In an impulse, Lotor reached out and scratched softly under his chin. 

“Sleep well, little one? You’ve already made yourself at home haven’t you?" he whispered and for a second, he felt weird. 

He had never had a pet before and now he found himself talking to an _animal_. Which couldn’t _understand him_. Kova gave him an odd look before jumping in his bag, startling Lotor. 

”Get out of there!” he hissed, but Kova had curled into a little ball again. Lotor could swear he changed sizes, if only just to annoy him. Kolivan’s words rang in his head.

Lotor alas sighed and grabbed the poetry book, shoving it in his bag besides the cat who shrieked. He smiled cockily. “There, since you like it so much,” he murmured, pulling the bag over his head and leaving his room. 

Sneaking into the kitchens, he quickly shushed the poor maids who almost fainted upon seeing him, complaining it was too early to see him up and about. _I don’t sleep that much,_ he thought with a light blush. They prepared him a quick snack and one of them offered a warm cup of milk. With the air outside already warming up, Lotor almost cried as the hot liquid slid down his throat. He thanked them and disappeared trough the back doors, bumping into someone.

The person squeaked and Lotor’s shoulder cried in pain when it casued Kova to stir in his bag as the two parted, finding himself face to face with a short, pale boy, with black hair and what could only be a mullet tied in a low ponytail at the back of his neck. Lotor didn’t recognise him but the loud bang of the clock sounding ten am, he realised he had to get to town before Dayak came to drink her morning tea.

”You’re not Shiro-“ was all he caught as he made his way past the boy and towards the smaller gate of the garden. 

And this incident quickly slipped from his mind as he mad his way down the hill and along the wood, towards the path leading to Kral Zera, with the intention of finding what had prompted the reoccurring blue shawl in his dream.

”You see, Kova,” he found himself speaking out loud, “when my dreams are odd _like that_ , it means something is up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone! thank you for your patience <3
> 
> I would like to mention that chapters take so long because when I post, I don't want it to be something I just wrote in five minutes as an obligation, but something I put more thought and work in, so thank you for reading.. I try to make these as good because I simply want to post something I am proud of. thank you for understanding and reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Check out my tumblr @[raeyhem](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/raeyhem) !


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